


O, To Be A Bridge

by xtalmarie



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtalmarie/pseuds/xtalmarie
Summary: A missing scene from Episode 501, The Fiery Cross... What did Lord John do that night, following Brianna and Roger’s wedding?  Picking up as the festivities begin to die down...
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp & Jamie Fraser & Lord John Grey, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	O, To Be A Bridge

Myers slumped over into the grass beside Lord John, making a damp _squoomph_ sound as he landed in a lumpy heap. John smiled half-heartedly as he looked over at the mountain of a man, now snoring loudly from his earthen nest. He had tried his best to end the night as intoxicated as Myers apparently was, but had somehow managed to fail at this one key task. _Ironically, the fault of Jamie’s so-called “whisky”_ , he mused, recalling the burn of what must have been 100 proof straight grain alcohol.

There had been a few bottles of excellent port and brandy - a very few - shared by Jamie’s aunt, the Mistress Jocasta Cameron. He hadn’t wanted to seem too selfish, nor selective, in his preferred libations, however, and so had limited himself to the small tasters offered him out of sheer politeness and decorum. He wished now he’d had the poor manners to ask for more; as strong as the whisky had been, he was physically unable to quaff more than three drams before his raw throat had protested vehemently against a fourth. 

He sighed then, deeply and wistfully, looking around at the deserted fires dappling the lawn with reddish-gold flickers, and undulating shadows beyond. Myers belched and snorted in his sleep; John took this as a sign that it was time for him to find his own sleeping arrangements. 

He looked up longingly toward the Big House, as the homestead was referred to by all of the local inhabitants, and noted the candlelight glow in the window he knew to belong to Jamie and Claire’s current “bedchamber”. With the roof over half of the second floor unfinished, they were confined to the downstairs for at least another few weeks until the roofing could be completed. As a guest of honor and _particular friend_ of the father of the bride, he had been invited to stay inside the house with the Frasers. The would-be study, temporarily converted to a bedchamber by the simple addition of a feather mattress and quilts, would be his. He was eagerly anticipating the soft bed after several nights of sleeping on the road. At the moment, however, he felt it beyond his power to force himself to enter the house and attempt to sleep... to lie down in the dark, alone again, knowing that the man he loved was making love to the woman _he_ loved in the next room. The one man he wanted more than any in the world, and yet could never have. Would never have. 

The irony was not lost on him, that he should lose his first love, quite possibly at the hand of his second, cursed to be forever alone. _Perhaps for the best,_ he thought, recalling the inherent risks and dangers in being a man of his “persuasion”. He couldn’t risk casual dalliances, couldn’t openly strike up friendships that _might_ lead to something more, couldn’t pursue and court a lover in the broad light of day, as other men did. Shadows and secrets were the way of life for those poor souls born with his tendency. 

He decided to take a walk and give the household some time to get well settled in before heading indoors himself. As he rose though, he heard the squall of a baby from the open, candlelit window, saw a large shadow cross it briefly, blocking the light almost completely for a moment, and remembered that they had the care of Brianna’s baby, Jemmy, for the night. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the shadow was Jamie. _Well, old chap,_ John resigned himself, _you’ll not likely sleep much tonight either way, but at least it will be for the noise of the babe. They’re not likely to have much more luck in love this night than you are!_

He made his way into the house, careful to open and close the doors quietly, and tiptoe softly across the new wood floors. Within a few minutes, he was undressed to the breeks and comfortably cocooned in his sleeping pallet. He heard Jemmy whimper and fuss again, but no footsteps or whispers followed; just silence as the child settled back into sleep again. 

John kept listening for the next sign of distress from the toddler, but instead heard giggling and the loud ‘clunk’ of a boot hitting the floor, hard. More giggling, and shushing noises, as Jemmy squawked loudly, once. Then silence. _Sohn einer Hündin! Was zur Hölle?_ , he mentally shouted. It seemed there was no escaping his curse.

Now that he was tuned in to the noises, he was acutely aware of every sound in the house - the crackling of the flames in the hearthfire, the sizzle of his own banked fire, and especially the ones he didn’t particularly care to hear. He distinctly heard the low rumble of Jamie’s baritone, and caught the words “mine” and “forever” in between some murmurings that must have been in Gaelic. Claire’s voice followed, hushing him, and then there was silence for a few moments - listening for the baby again, he assumed. 

Jemmy made no noise this time. _Damn!_ he thought, wondering if he could manage to wake the child somehow without getting caught. But they were already occupied again in the next room. He thought about trying to sneak back out again, but knew they were as tuned in to the possibility of noises from the babe as he was; surely with Jamie’s keen senses, he would be heard. _I should have waited until the damned candle was out!_ , he chastised himself, for what would be the first time of many that long night. 

More giggling and ‘shhh!’ noises, and the unmistakable sounds of resumed lovemaking. Claire this time - he could hear her halting gasps, followed by high-pitched noises that could only be described as the peeping of a hatchling bird. _A robin, or a raven, perhaps,_ he mused, grateful for the mental distraction. He didn’t think he’d ever heard a woman make a noise like that during coitus, and while he wasn’t much in the habit of making love to women himself, he had been married for more than a decade, after all, and had certainly seen (and heard) his share of brothels, besides. 

_Had she climaxed? Did women generally_ do _that?_ he pondered, doing his utmost to think on the topic in abstract terms, rather than the very specific term of one Claire Fraser. _But of course_ she _would,_ his wanderings pushed on, ignoring his resolve. _Of course. A man like Jamie would see to it that she did,_ his thoughts persisted, rebelliously. He didn’t want to think about what a man would have to do to make a woman make those sounds, but his brain was making a fair job of it, with or without his consent.

Jemmy, cursed child, appeared to have finally settled into a deep sleep and was no longer rustling in his bassinet or whimpering at the noises coming from his grandparents’ room. Now there were just the crackles and hisses of the fire, the pools of soft light pulsing on the hearth and walls, melting into shadow, and the deep, rhythmic groans and sighs of bridled passions to keep him company in the night. 

The nature of their restrained breathlessness recalled to Lord John one night spent on guard duty at Ardsmuir, shortly after his arrival; he had thought it wise in his new station, to familiarize himself with every detail his men performed, much as the captain of a ship must know his vessel’s duties from prow to stern, mast to deck. And so he had sat on a stool outside one of the four cells, not knowing at the time whether it had been Jamie Fraser’s cell, and having no reason yet to wonder. 

The sounds beyond the cell door had surprised him; there were the expected snores and farts, the mumblings of dreams, and the occasional cry from a nightmare. He had even been prepared for the noises of prisoners coupling, or at least he had _thought_ he had been prepared. It hadn’t been the carnal pleasure-fest he had assumed would begin once the darkness consumed the cell; instead it had been the quiet murmurings of comfort and intimacy, soft sobs of loneliness and despair quieted by the embrace of a caring friend, desperate for the same solace. The sound of chains clinking softly, rhythmically, had briefly punctuated the melancholy cacophony, only commencing once the ambient noise level had grown enough to drown out most of the metallic jingling. It hadn’t lasted long. _So, some preferred to deal with the loneliness on their own,_ he had realized. The reality of the prisoners’ plight had brought him to tears. He had not sat the night watch again.

Thinking again on this memory in the darkest hour of the night, he recalled that when he had first come to Ardsmuir, Jamie Fraser had been the only prisoner kept in irons... _It must have been him..._ Lord John wept again with the realization and mental image that followed. This time, in bitter gratitude for his cherished friend, for having found surcease from that aching loneliness, in the return of his beloved wife. For the joy that had shone in their faces as they gave away their daughter in marriage that day. For their gift of self, given to one another freely, as he himself would... if given the chance. And for the barren emptiness of his own prison cell, where the walls and irons were invisible, yet as real as any at Ardsmuir.

_”Claire... oh God, Claire!”_ rumbled through the wall, along with Claire’s ecstatic squeaks. John sighed softly in relief at this anticipated conclusion, and drifted off into a dream-filled sleep, caressed by unseen hands, the chirps of baby birds calling from their nest outside the window. _“Mine”_ echoed in his ears, _“forever!”_ It was Jamie’s voice, but the words were for him now. Claire whispered in his ear, _“I’ll have you, too.”_ He felt her soft hands on his back, and Jamie’s wrap around his chest from behind. He was caught between them, between their passion, a bridge to one another. _O, to be a bridge,_ flitted through his mind as he lost himself to the rhythm of their love. 


End file.
